


let us always meet each other with a smile

by alamorn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A misunderstanding on both ends leads to some small awkwardness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let us always meet each other with a smile

He is very handsome.

It’s not like Sandor was trying to eavesdrop — he was overprotective, but Winterfell was safe enough at this point that he saw no point in shadowing his queen everywhere she went — it was just that sound carried in the high arched hallways, bounced off stone and slid whispers under doors. And he certainly wasn’t jealous. It would be ridiculous to be jealous of that hushed, almost reverent tone. He was a bitter old dog, and he had a place by the fire and food to fill his belly and a queen who smiled at him when she caught him staring.

And, well. That was enough. It was more than he’d ever had before. She’d offered him lands, but he’d refused them. When he was with her, all of the things he didn’t have seemed less important. So he really had no right to be jealous. She was a beautiful young woman, powerful in a way that Westeros was quick becoming accustomed to, since the Dragon Queen melted the Iron Throne. She had many suitors, and if there was one that would make her happy — well, she deserved some happiness.

But still, he had to keep un-clenching his jaw as he went about his duties. Who was this man who had so caught the Lady Stark’s attentions? Was he kind as well as handsome? Well-landed? A proficient warrior, or a simpering book-lover like that Tarly boy that traveled with the Knight-Commander? Was he worthy?

Sandor tried not to snort. He was running drills for all the boys in the household guard, and it would look strange. He hadn’t had to work hard to get them to fear him, but it wouldn’t do to put the little effort he had put in to waste. Instead, he lashed forward with the heavy wooden shield, knocking the boy he was sparring off his feet.

Mocking applause filled the courtyard, and he tried not to smile as he pulled the half-helm off. The wolf-bitch lounged against the wall, gray eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well struck, Clegane!” she called. “I am sure that changing weapons tactics mid lesson is an excellent method.”

He made a quick come hither gesture at her, and she started towards him, snagging a small shield and wooden sword on her way. “The most important lesson in battle is to expect the unexpected, Stark, and I thought you knew that.”

The half-smile she wore spread into a full grin and she dropped to the ground, balancing on her hands as she landed a kick on the meat of his bad leg. He howled, but smiled back at her, blood starting to pound in his ears. The wolf-bitch was the only one in the whole damn keep who could give him a good fight, and she didn’t do it by fighting fair. He shook the shield off his arm and shifted to a two handed grip, and slashed at the air where she’d just been.

Did she know who Sansa was talking about? Probably. The sisters were nigh inseparable and shared everything. But there was no time to think of that, not while her practice blade was darting for his stomach. He turned to let it whiz past, lowered his shoulder and barreled towards her. She danced away, and struck him on the rear with the flat of her blade, cackling.

“Stand still and fight!” he bellowed, and it startled her enough that she hesitated for a second, and he brought her down in a tackle. She laughed and twisted under him as he tickled her mercilessly with one hand, and turned to his students. “You see? In a battle, your blade is never your only weapon. If you ride, your horse will be more weapon than any lance ever could. Your body is your best weapon though. No one can take it from you, so learn how to use it. When facing enemies faster than yourself, don’t let the fight drag on — you’ll wear out quicker, trying to keep up with them. Change the rules of the fight.”

Arya’s laughter melted away to hiccups as she shoved at him. “And don’t let what looks like the end discourage you,” she said, and somehow kicked him in the side of the head, and wriggled free. “If you’re the small, fast one, you have to be flexible too, and not just physically. You have to see what their blind spots are, what side they favor, and on and on. If you’re big and burly, and can kill a man with one blow, that’s well and good, but if you can’t you have to make every strike count. Don’t attack unless you know you can land it.”

“Ah, is this where you wandered off to?” The Queen’s voice was level and amused, but every man present straightened instantly. Sansa glanced at the dirt ground into her sister’s plain clothes and raised an eyebrow. Sandor swallowed hard, looking at her. The sun gilded her hair with streaks of gold and her face was serene. She didn’t often look so at peace. Did it have to do with her handsome man?

He hoped it wasn’t a knight. It probably wouldn’t be. She’d told him that she’d had knights enough for one lifetime, when he asked if his lack of knighthood would effect his position as head of the guard.

“I was providing valuable instruction to the men in our command,” Arya said, as though she didn’t have half her hair out of her braid and dirt smudged across her flushed cheeks.

“I can see that,” Sansa said. “Come, little sister. There is word from the wall.”

Arya brightened, and Sansa mirrored the joy. Sandor’s tongue felt thick and clumsy, but he pushed the words past it anyway. “My lady, may I have a word?”

She tilted her head at him, looking uncomfortably like Nymeria when she was pretending not to understand a request. “Of course, Sandor. Walk with me?”

He offered her his arm, and let her lead him into the warm halls of Winterfell. “I — little bird, forgive me but I overheard you earlier and —“ did she look afraid for a moment there? what did she have to fear? “and I wanted to — I wanted to let you know that if you — plan on wedding—“

She squeaked, a sound he’d not heard for several years. When he finally had the courage to look over at her, her face was bright red. “Se- Sandor, whatever you heard, I — well, it hardly matters, don’t you think?”

He stopped, frowning down at her. He knew what frowning did to his scars, but she had not minded those since she was two and ten and flinching at every shadow in the Red Keep. But then, she’d not called him ser since then, either.

“Sansa?” he said, and let himself grasp her chin to bring her eyes to his. “I only wished to offer my congratulations.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, well, that’s a bit premature. I’ve not yet made my intentions clear to him.”

His gut twisted. Who could it be that Sansa would hesitate to make her suite? Who could it be that Sansa would be the one to do the courting?

“I’m sure he’ll respond favorably,” he said slowly, searching for the right words. 

Sansa smiled at him. “I do hope so, though it is less certain than I might wish. I believe he loves me, but he has never made his intentions clear.”

Sandor grunted. “It would be a stupid man to reject you, little bird.”

“Well,” she said, and something shifted in the set of her jaw. “In that case, Sandor Clegane, will you be my lord consort? Will you wed me and wear my name and promise to never take my power for yourself?”

Sandor could only gape at her. He must have heard wrong, his blood was too loud in his ears, that could have masked her true words. As he stared at her, he face flushed darker and darker, but she continued to meet his eyes squarely.

“Little bird?” he whispered. “Did I — did I hear you right? You want me at your side?”

“You are already at my side, Sandor. I only want to be happy, and you make me happy. So, I say again, will you wed me?”

He dropped to his knees, so she looked down at him. That had put them level once, but this was better. “I will do whatever you ask of me, I will be whatever you need me to be, I will obey your every word, but please, I beg you, do not toy with me.”

“I do not toy, Sandor.” Her hand found his scarred cheek, and pushed his hair back so he was bare before her. Walking naked through the courtyard would have been less terrifying. “I wish to wed you. Will you have me?”

He nodded, speechless, and she drew him towards her, so his face was pressed against her stomach. He could hear her heart beating, and his own, and he breathed deeply to remember the smell of this moment. When he pulled away, she smiled down at him.

“I will announce our betrothal tomorrow then. We will wed in two months’ time. That will give the lords time to send gifts and representatives. You understand that you will not be allowed to be your own man if you wed me? You are the North’s now, and she is an exacting mistress.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been your man for years now, little bird. The North is nothing to you.”

She bent and kissed him gently. When she pulled away, he followed her up, knees tingling with pain. But she smiled again, open and honest, and he found he could not care.


End file.
